


Punching in a Dream

by tsthrace



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsthrace/pseuds/tsthrace
Summary: I've been feeling very angry and devastated about the backlash to the #MeToo movement in the U.S., particularly the Supreme Court situation, and the way this culture can be so dismissive and shaming about sexual assault—even unconsciously—and how victims internalize those reactions. So I wrote about something that makes me angry and continue to work it out through characters I love.Or, Lexa goes to one of Clarke's work parties and talks to a charming guy who misreads her attention. After, Clarke and Lexa try to pick up the pieces.(This was meant to be a one-shot. Additional chapters added by request. I'm grateful for that encouragement. It's been powerful for me to explore this story.)





	1. Fight, Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Belated gratitude to [a_bit_of_madness](https://bit.ly/2qjFrSQ), my amazing beta.

Lexa rested against the bathroom vanity, her face in her hands. The background music of the dinner party outside slipped in through the cracks.

_Way-ay-ay-ay-wait, I don’t ever want to be here._

Lexa smiled to herself at how stupidly perfect the song was. Dinner parties weren’t really her thing. Clarke was better at them. Better at pretending to like the food, better at being curious about people’s lives, better at navigating the small talk. Lexa hated small talk.

“Why spend our energy talking if we’re not going to say anything?” Lexa had asked, exasperated, after Clarke pulled her aside into the kitchen at the last thing they went to.

“It’s how people warm up to each other,” Clarke answered, wrapping her arms around Lexa gently.

“No one’s trying to warm up to anyone here,” Lexa replied, letting herself be held. “We’re all just avoiding making each other uncomfortable.”

It was always the same people, talking about the same thing: work. Clarke was in research and development for ARK Pharma. She headed the cancer department, a small, relatively underfunded team. Always the optimist, Clarke insisted on going to all the extracurricular functions, hoping to build more relationships to score more resources. Meanwhile, her coworkers tried to convince her to go into more lucrative research. It’s what they’d been doing all night.

“Clarke, cancer’s great. Very noble.” A sly-looking man named John Murphy said as he raised a glass of whiskey to his lips and took a sip. “But the money is in erectile dysfunction.”

“I make plenty of money,” Clarke responded with a shrug. She did. She was good at her job. “And I couldn’t give two shits about getting some guy hard.” She lifted Lexa’s hand that she was holding and emphatically kissed it.

John looked at Lexa. “And what about you? What do you do?”

Lexa hated this question. When she was honest, inevitably some guy’s eyebrows would rise, and he’d challenge her in the guise of asking for a demonstration.

“I’m in security,” she answered vaguely.

“What does that even mean?” he asked skeptically.

“It means,” Clarke jumped in, “that she beats people’s asses when they ask too many questions.” John gave a slick grin and let it go.

Lexa took a sip of wine. Syrah. Spicy. Clarke always rescued her in social situations. It was both sweet and annoying.

She gazed around the room at the men in clever sweaters and women in expensive shoes. They weren’t bad people, they just didn’t seem to know how to be honest. She took a slow breath in. The music felt so loud. The air felt so heavy. It was a big apartment for New York, but there were a lot of people in it.

She saw Clarke looking at her expectantly.

“Excuse me?” Lexa asked, aware that she had missed something.

“Oh, I was just wondering where you’re from,” said a blonde woman Lexa had met at least five times before at other work gatherings. _What is her name?_

“I’m from Virginia originally,” Lexa replied. _Harper! That’s her name._ She felt her chest relax.

“I’m from Virginia,” said a tall, slim man standing behind Harper and holding a beer. “Arlington.” His jaw was sharp and his eyes bright green.

“Norfolk,” Lexa responded.

The man nodded. He reached out his hand across the coffee table. “I’m Brett.” He had the vibe of a geek who didn’t know he was handsome.

“Lexa,” she replied, letting go of Clarke’s hand to shake his. Clarke smiled at this unpracticed bit of socializing.

“Lexa here is in security,” John said to no one in particular.

Brett ignored him. “Norfolk is so much better than Arlington,” he said.

“I’ve never heard anyone say anything like that ever,” Lexa said, surprised to find herself smiling.

“What do you hate about Arlington?” Harper asked.

“I don’t hate it,” Brett said. “It’s just that everyone there claims to be so progressive, but then they all go to work for those Republican douchebags in the city. It just feels really hypocritical.” He had a smooth, easy voice.

“We’re all hypocrites in our own ways,” Lexa responded, her lips drawn into a small smile. Clarke watched Lexa carefully as her body shifted to face the man. It was always fascinating to see who she opened up to.

“I suppose that’s true.” Brett took a drink then looked up at Lexa. “How are you a hypocrite?”

Lexa looked up at the ceiling as she put together her thoughts. “I think I tend to demand more from people than I give. I don’t know if that’s hypocritical but…”

“Sounds like the definition of hypocrisy to me.” Brett shrugged, his eyes shining as he looked intently at Lexa.

Clarke raised an eyebrow. _Are they flirting?_ She suppressed a laugh. Only Lexa could call everyone in the world a hypocrite and somehow become more attractive. Harper seemed to notice, too, and looked at Clarke, her eyes asking a question. Clarke just shook her head and smiled.

Lexa leaned back and crossed her arms. “So what’s your hypocrisy then?”

“Socially liberal, fiscally conservative.” He raised his bottle in a toast.

“Hear! Hear!” John proclaimed, standing

“Oh my God, sit down,” Harper groaned.

Clarke sunk into the couch with her face in her hands. “Not that bullshit.”

Lexa laughed and raised her wine glass to Brett. “You win!”

Brett’s face became earnest. “No, but really--”

“Here we go,” said Clarke, rolling her eyes playfully.

“I just don’t think the government should have so much say in our lives, period.”

“Oh no.” Lexa felt her face warm with wine. “A libertarian. Even worse.”

“Just hear me out,” Brett insisted. “I don’t like how we treat certain people in this country. Women, for example. They make, what, 80 cents on every man’s dollar? That’s not right.”

“But you don’t think government should fix that?” Clarke asked.

“I don’t think government _can_ fix it,” he replied. “Not without raising taxes and putting another 500 pages of complicated legislation in the books. And no one wants to be forced to change. You make a law, you’ll just have a bunch of resentful men.”

Lexa felt annoyed that she was still listening to his bullshit. But Brett was strangely likeable. She got the feeling that she could challenge him without him getting defensive or aggressive, like most men she knew. “So if you actually believe it,” she asked, “how is it hypocrisy?”

Echo, the party’s host, appeared from another corner of the room. “Hey Brett, that guy from Georgetown is here.” She looked sideways at Lexa and forced a smile. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ve been wanting them to meet for a long time.”

Lexa leaned back into the couch, feeling like a bowstring pulled back but never released. A fun fight that never came. Clarke sensed her tension and softly reached out to stroke the tattoo on the back of Lexa’s neck.

“I’m so sick of the world tending to men’s feelings like they’re delicate baby birds,” Lexa heard Harper saying.

“But we are delicate baby birds,” John said, not completely insincerely, looking down at his empty whiskey glass.

“No, you’re not,” Clarke said, leaning forward, her blue eyes turning to ice. She was terrible at hiding her anger. Lexa loved that about her. “You just act that way when it’s convenient.”

John just nodded quietly. They all sat around the coffee table in awkward silence.

“Hey guys!” A young man with black hair and sweet eyes bounded up to the group and wrapped his arms lovingly around Harper from behind. “They’re setting vodka on fire in the kitchen. It’s a competition between ED and Anxiety Disorders.”

Lexa stifled an eye roll and went to take another sip of wine, but found her glass empty. She imagined being at home on their couch, Clarke staring at her computer while she read. Lexa closed her eyes. _Did the music get louder?_ People seemed to be talking, but she was having a hard time hearing. Her head swam with syrah. Red wine gave her such a thick buzz. She opened her eyes to a sea of laughter. Everyone seemed to be smiling. _Did the room shrink? Why is everyone sitting so close to me?_

She rubbed her eyes.

“Babe, are you okay?” Clarke’s voice was close to her ear, her hand resting on Lexa’s back.

Lexa nodded slowly, unwilling to admit she drank too much. “Do you know where the bathroom is?”

“Yeah, it’s just down there to the left.” Clarke pointed down a hallway. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m fine,” Lexa said, forcing a thin smile. “I just need some quiet.”

Clarke nodded. She understood. Lexa always found the bathroom when she got overwhelmed.

 _All the lights go down as I crawl into the spaces._ The lyrics poured from invisible speakers as Lexa made her way across the room. She held onto the music like a handrail as she weaved through the mass of people. There was sudden relief when she made a left down the dark, empty hallway. When she found the bathroom, she closed and locked the door behind her and rested against the vanity. She took a deep breath in.

_Way-ay-ay-ay-wait, I don’t ever want to be here._

She felt her body relax into the quiet. She balled up her hands in a tight fist and then slowly unfurled them, letting them open and relax. _I wonder how much longer we have to stay?_ Lexa felt a twinge of guilt at the thought. Clarke enjoyed these things, enjoyed being around her people, even the ones she didn’t particularly like. They fascinated her. Lexa didn’t dislike people, they just drained her sometimes. All the noise they made, all the passive ways they sought out each other’s attention. _Why can’t they just ask for what they need?_

She brought her hands to her face, covering her eyes, and rested in the darkness. _Just a little longer._ She made a plan. First, she’d go get water. Then she’d go back to Clarke and give her that look. The one that said, _I need you to take over_. She’d sit quietly, close to Clarke, for awhile, then she’d whisper into Clarke’s ear, “twenty minutes.” Clarke would nod and after twenty minutes Lexa would leave with or without her. This was their process, finally mastered after many frustrating misunderstandings and late-night fights.

 _Half hour, tops._ Lexa took a deep breath. _You got this._

She put her hand on the doorknob, paused to take a deep breath, then turned it. As she turned into the hallway, she almost smashed into Brett who was just outside the door.

“Oh, hey,” he said.

“It’s all yours,” Lexa said, nodding towards the bathroom.

“Hey, wait.” He blocked the hallway, somehow seeming bigger now than he had in the living room.

“Yeah?” Lexa said, her face blank.

 _Like punching in a dream, breathing life into my nightmare._ The song drifted from the party.

“I just thought we could finish our conversation.” Brett smiled and stepped closer, leaning his head toward hers.

She could smell the beer on his breath. Her heart beat in her ears, an alarm.

“Don’t, Brett.” Her eyes narrowed as she tried to push past him, but he put his hand on her shoulder, pushing her slowly but firmly back into the bathroom. He was stronger than he looked.

_They’ll get through, they’ll get you  
_ _In the place that you fear it the most_

He pushed the door closed quietly and turned the lock.

“I saw how you smiled at me,” he whispered. He pushed her gently against the wall and put his lips on hers, his tongue searching for a way into her mouth. She felt his body against hers, the stiffness through his pants push against her belly.

The world went silent as a surge of anger went through her like electricity. She grit her teeth, locking her jaw to keep him out. She shoved him away.

“I don’t want this,” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “Stop.”

She reached for the doorknob, but he pushed her roughly against the door as he tried to unbutton his pants.

“C’mon, Lexa. You were practically fucking me with your eyes out there.”

She saw his cock pop out and felt her body go into a different gear. She had been trained for moments just like this. She had trained others for moments just like this.

“BACK OFF!” she shouted as loudly as she could, pushing away from him just enough to give her room to ball up her first and punch him swiftly in the throat.

He gasped and crumpled to the ground, holding his throat. She kicked him swiftly, not caring where her foot landed. Still gasping for breath, he put his hand up to ward her off. Every cell inside her was pulsing.

“Fuck you,” he managed to croak.

“Fuck _me_?” Her skin was on fire as she got down on her knees to look at him. She pinned his head against the wall with one hand and then dragged her fingernails slowly, deeply down one side of his face, feeling his skin tear under them.

He screamed like a child as blood spilled down his cheek.

There was a pounding on the door. The music had gone silent.

“Lexa?” She heard Clarke shouting frantically through the door.

Lexa lowered her mouth to his ear. “Those are going to scar,” she whispered, rage dripping from her voice. “A reminder. If you ever touch anyone like that again…” Brett looked up at her like a frightened cat.

She stood up slowly, her metal gaze on him the whole time. Then she reached up and turned the lock.

Clarke pushed into the space followed by Echo. They looked down to see Brett slumped against the wall, his pink cock peeking out from his undone fly and blood staining the left side of his shirt.

“What the fuck?” Echo looked at Lexa incredulously. “What happened?”

“What the fuck do you think happened?” Clarke spat at her. Then she turned to Lexa and raised her hand softly to her cheek, “Are you okay?”

Lexa flinched at Clarke’s touch and suddenly felt nauseous. She pushed Clarke’s hand away. “Just...don’t.” She felt tears burning her eyes. Her legs started to give and braced herself against the vanity.

Brett sat up slowly and fumbled to pull his pants up.

“Stay down there,” Lexa said to him quietly. She looked up at Clarke. “I need to leave.”

“Wait,” Echo said, her eyes bouncing from Brett to Lexa, her face was tight with embarrassment. “Should we call the police?”

Lexa shook her head. “I just need to go home,” she said steadily, even as her bones seemed to melt inside her. She grabbed Clarke’s arm and looked towards the door.

“What about him?” Echo asked, looking down at Brett.

“I don’t care about him,” she said blankly as they walked out.

The narrow hallway was lined with faces all looking at Lexa. A thin hum of discomfort filled the apartment. She wanted to stand up straight, stare each person in the eyes, but her body wouldn’t let her. She hated that she had to lean on Clarke, but she was glad she could.

They shuffled through the living room, past Harper and John whose eyes didn’t blink, and then finally out the door. As the door clicked shut, Lexa fell against Clarke who wrapped her arm around Lexa’s waist and guided her to the elevator. Clarke pushed the button for the lobby and the doors slid closed. That was when Lexa crumpled to the ground, her head on her knees, her arms over her head, hiding her face. She heaved with sobs.

Clarke sat on the floor next to her, careful not to touch her.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly as Lexa struggled to find her breath through the tears. “I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of story and song: [Punching in a Dream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kC29pd_5sQU) by The Naked and Famous. It haunts me whenever I listen to it now.


	2. Icicle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa struggle to cope after the party.

Lexa left early to go for long runs in the morning and came home late after long workouts at the gym at night. When she came home, she’d go straight to the bathroom for long showers. Clarke gave her space at first, offering dinner, a drink, a backrub, but never insisting. Lexa always quietly declined then made herself a protein shake and ate leftovers from the fridge straight from the tupperware. Then they both would sit on the couch together, Clarke working on her laptop and Lexa looking blankly at whatever was on tv until Clarke finally went to bed. Then Lexa would sleep on the couch.

This had been going on for a month. Clarke wasn’t sure what to do. She wanted to give Lexa space, let her process the way she needed to, so she hadn’t brought up the party. Not yet.

“I’m taking on a few more classes this weekend,” Lexa told Clarke after her shower on a Friday night. “For extra money.”

“Lexa…” Clarke sighed. “We don’t need extra money. You’re running yourself into the ground.”

“I’m feeling great, actually,” Lexa replied, not looking at Clarke. “I ran my fastest 10k since college yesterday.”

Clarke stepped towards her and gently took Lexa’s hand. It felt like a stone.

“Babe, you know that’s not what I meant.” Clarke suddenly realized that she had barely touched Lexa since the party, felt her chest clench with the realization. She looked at Lexa with sad eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Lexa replied, looking past Clarke. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Lexa…” Clarke bent her head so that Lexa would have to look at her. “I miss you. Maybe we should...talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Lexa pulled her hand away from Clarke’s.

“You were almost raped,” Clarke said bluntly, desperately.

“I was _not_ raped.” Lexa over-articulated her words, a sure sign she was angry. “I handled it. He barely touched me.”

“Love, I was so scared,” Clarke said quietly, her eyes searching Lexa’s. “I wish I could have been there for you. I wish I had seen him follow you to the bathroom.”

“It’s fine,” Lexa said curtly. “I’m fine.”

“We should have called the police.”

“For what? He tried and I fucked him up.” Lexa’s words were sharp. “ _I_ probably would have been charged for hurting _him_.”

Clarke shook her head. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally, she looked down and said, “I just want you back.”

“I need to go to bed,” Lexa replied. “Can you do your work in the bedroom so I can have the couch?”

Clarke nodded, resigned. “Yeah.”

* * *

When Clarke woke up, Lexa was gone. It was seven on a Saturday morning. A few hours later, Clarke got a text.

*Brunch? Lena’s?* It was from Echo. They hadn’t really talked much since the party. Clarke had tried to keep to herself at work.

*Is Brett going to be there?* Clarke texted back. She knew he wouldn’t be. She’d never seen him before the party, but she just wanted to make sure.

*No. Of course not.* The response came from Echo. *Is Lexa coming?*  

*No,* Clarke replied. *What time?*

She pulled on some jeans and a sweater and took a Lyft to Lena’s. She saw Echo and Bellamy in the window. They waved. Clarke knew Echo through Bellamy who was an old friend from college. They even hooked up a few times back in the day, but it never stuck. He helped her through some tough spots through the years, supported her when she came out, and encouraged her when she was getting her Ph.D. He was a good man, a kind man.

“How’s Lexa doing?” Echo asked, playing with the corner of a napkin.

“I don’t know,” Clarke admitted. “She’s been working and exercising nonstop. I’ve barely seen her.”

“She savaged that guy’s face,” Bellamy said lightheartedly. Echo gave him a look. “What?” He threw his hands up. “She did.”

“He tried to hurt her,” Clarke said, her eyes narrowed.

“We don’t really know what happened,” Bellamy said. “Our other friend said that Brett told him that Lexa came on to him.”

“Are you fucking serious, Bellamy?” Clarke’s face flushed. She couldn’t believe this was coming out of her friend’s mouth. “Even if Lexa wasn’t the gayest person I’ve ever met, even if we weren’t together, even if she actually was hitting on him, he had no right to do what he did.”

Bellamy leaned back. “Sometimes it’s just--”

“Don’t.” Echo cut him off, looking embarrassed.

“Are you saying that Lexa lied? Or are you saying that she deserved it?” Clarke shook her head. “Because either way, you look like an asshole.”

“Clarke, I didn’t mean...” Bellamy said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

She believed him, which only made her feel worse.

* * *

It was past eight that Saturday night. Lexa had spent the whole day at the gym, alternating between teaching self-defense classes, the juice bar, and her own work outs. She was ending the day with kickboxing, her specialty, sparring with her coach, Titus.

“I know you can get that leg higher, Lexa,” he said after she peppered him with a quick combination ending with a kick that he easily parried.

She felt sweat roll down her back and legs and smiled. Her whole body felt alive, pulsing with electricity.

Titus came at her with a flurry of jabs and a tentative high kick that she easily dodged.

“Come on, Titus!” she growled through her mouthguard. “Come at me!”

They danced around the ring until Titus attacked. She blocked his jab and dodged when the cross came in, but his quick low kick found her ribs, and she stumbled with the sudden pain. Titus backed away.

“Don’t stop!” Lexa yelled as she faked a punch. Titus bought her feint and dodged, his gloves coming down. She saw the opening. Without thinking, her body shifted its weight onto her back foot and her other leg swung up into a roundhouse, her foot connecting sharply with the ear of Titus’ head guard. He staggered back but put his gloves back up.

Everything went quiet. The gym, the sound of their shuffling feet, her thoughts. Lexa could feel every part of her body--the way her feet connected with the mat, the air brushing against the tiny hairs on her arms, the breath moving steadily in and out of her nose and lungs. Every part of her moved in a joyful symphony. It was effortless. _I’m in control._

A muted voice cried out through her silence.

“Stop!”

Lexa suddenly felt new sensations, hands on her arms and around her shoulders pulling her back. Sound suddenly flooded her head, so sharp she shuddered. Four people held onto her. Titus was sprawled on the mat, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.

_What happened?_

“Oh my God, Titus.” Lexa collapsed to her knees, and they let go of her.

“I’m okay,” he said, slowly pushing himself up. “I’m okay.” He looked at Lexa. “I’ve never seen anyone move like that. You were flawless. It was like you knew what I was going to do three moves ahead of me.”

“I’m so sorry, Titus.” Lexa rushed over and helped him take off his gloves.

The others backed off slowly. Titus nodded at them. _It’s okay._

“I don’t know what happened,” Lexa said. “It’s like I was...I don’t know.” She didn’t know how to explain it.

“Lexa, it was beautiful,” he said gravely. “And terrifying. You looked like you wanted to kill me.” Titus looked away. “I thought you were going to. You looked so angry.”

“I didn’t…” She took in a breath. “I didn’t feel angry. I felt...amazing.”

Titus wiped the blood from under his nose and winced. “I think you broke it.”

“Oh God, Titus, I’m so sorry.” Lexa started to feel shaky. She couldn’t remember anything, just the feeling in her body. “I...I lost control. I’m so sorry.”

Titus looked her in the eye. “What’s going on with you?”

Lexa shrugged and looked down.

“You’ve been going really hard this week,” Titus continued. “I think you need to take a break.” He paused a few moments. “I’m not letting you fight here for at least a week.”

“Titus--”

“You can work out here, but no fighting.”

“But--”

“If you knocked me down and hurt me like this, can you imagine what you’d do to anyone else?”

Lexa nodded slowly. Her whole body was shaking now. She felt so cold all of a sudden. So scared. She wasn’t the type to lose control. She prided herself on her discipline and restraint. _What happened?_

“I’m calling Clarke to come get you,” Titus said, finally standing up. Someone brought him a rag to wipe his nose.

“Titus, I can get home.” She just wanted to be alone.

“I’m not letting you leave until she gets here.”

Lexa huffed. “Fine.”

* * *

Clarke arrived twenty minutes later. Lexa was still shivering under her track pants and jacket.

“Thanks for calling me,” Clarke said to Titus.

“I know you’ll take good care of her,” he replied with a thin smile. Rolled-up bits of toilet paper stuck out of his nose.

“Are you okay?” Clarke asked.

Titus nodded. “It’s not me you should be worried about.”

Lexa looked down. She still couldn’t remember what happened.

They walked out into the brisk autumn night.

“Babe, you’re shaking.” Clarke wrapped her arm around her and pulled her close. She was surprised when Lexa didn’t pull away. Clarke smiled softly. “Why don’t we call a Lyft instead of taking the subway this time?” She felt Lexa nod.

They detoured into a Walgreens so that Clarke could call a car. It was strangely empty--just silent rows of packaged products staring down at them. Lexa squinted at the harsh light in the store. The background music caught her ear. It wasn’t the usual early 2000s easy listening. A haunting piano poured out of the speakers. The late shift must have vetoed the corporate playlist.

 _Icicle, icicle, where are you going?_  
_I have a hiding place when spring marches on._  
_Will you keep watch for me?  
_ _I hear them calling…_

Lexa closed her eyes, listening to the lyrics. A pressure rose in her chest, glowing like a dying star. She felt afraid for what might happen if it exploded, or worse, collapsed. She found the piano again, let it hold her through the fear. It rolled on quietly as the lyrics soared.

_I could have flown, you know..._

Lexa closed her eyes and took Clarke’s hand. _Her hand is so cold_ , Clarke thought, feeling tears burn at the corners of her eyes. She turned to look at Lexa whose eyes were glassy and so tired. Clarke wrapped her arms around Lexa and pulled her as close as she could, holding on tight. She smelled the sweat in Lexa’s hair and felt her body shiver.

“Clarke, I don’t think I’m doing very well,” Lexa whispered.

“I don’t think so either, my love,” Clarke replied, kissing her head. “But we’re going to figure it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song in Walgreens: [Icicle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ik32mGsf_3s) \- Tori Amos.


	3. May You Find a Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke does her best to support. Lexa finds comfort in a surprising place.

When they got home, Lexa did not shower. She didn’t make a protein shake or watch tv. She went straight to the bedroom and crawled into bed.

“Let me help you.” Clarke rushed over before Lexa could pull her shoes with her under the covers. Clarke untied her sneakers and took them off, then peeled off her socks and held her hand out. “Can I pull you up so we can get that sweatshirt off?”

Lexa submitted as Clarke helped her out of the sweatshirt and her track pants, but when Clarke tried to pull off her tank top, Lexa flinched.

“I think I just want to go to sleep now,” she said, looking away.

Clarke nodded her head slowly and bit her lip. “Can I get you anything? Some water?”

“Just turn off the light, please.”

Clarke turned off the light and left the room, closing the door behind her.

She pulled the stopper out of an already opened bottle of red wine and poured a small glass. She swirled it around and smelled it. A few months ago, Lexa would have laughed at her. _It’s three days old, you’re not going to pick up on its cherry notes._ Clarke couldn’t tell the difference between a merlot and malbec, but she liked how red wine slowed everything down. Lexa was the one who picked out what they drank at dinner. But Lexa hadn’t had a drink since the party.

Clarke sat on the couch and took a sip. Lexa had always been a little quiet, a little intense, but there had always been joy lurking beneath everything she did. The way she came home silly after a good workout, the sly grin when she was being extraordinarily picky about her coffee, or the rare, glowing “whoop whoop!” when one of her students finally mastered a difficult move. But now, Lexa was almost always silent and Clarke hadn’t seen her smile since before...

Clarke knew she had to be patient. She had looked up how a partner should support someone who had been assaulted, and they all said some variation of, “believe them, tell them it wasn’t their fault, give it time, and meet them where they’re at.” Clarke had managed to give it time and meet Lexa where she was at--which was to not talk about it at all.

She shook her head slowly and took another sip. _What else can I do?_

Clarke missed Lexa. She missed the small talk about their day as they made dinner together. She missed how Lexa teased her about curing cancer and saving the world. She missed the feel of Lexa’s skin against hers when they went to sleep.

Clarke leaned her head against the couch and closed her eyes. _I guess I’ll sleep out here tonight._

* * *

Clarke was up at nine the next morning, surprised to see the bedroom door still closed. Lexa woke up before 6:30 like clockwork, even on the weekends, even when she wanted to sleep later. Clarke listened for her rustling so that she could make her coffee when she woke up. At 9:30, she risked going to the bakery down the street to get them warm scones. The door was still closed when she got back. So she checked the news on her phone and scrolled through Instagram. John Murphy was on a beach looking pasty. Harper and her boyfriend Monty were at a wedding. She swiped through their posts and then stopped. There was Brett in the background, smiling and holding up a champagne glass, the marks on his face red but surprisingly smooth--he must have had work done. Of course he did.

 _Fuck you_ , Clarke thought, trying not to slam her phone on the table. _Fuck you, that you get to have a good time at a wedding while she’s like this, you fucking prick._ Her face grew hot. She wanted to scratch his almost-healed wounds, open them up again and spit in them. She wanted to shout at everyone at that wedding that he was someone who would rape you if he could. _Fuck you, that you just get to go on with your life._

She swiped to a sunset selfie of Harper and Monty with the reception lights glowing behind them. _And fuck you two for being there, for not saying anything, for letting him off the hook._

Clarke muted both of their accounts.

She heard Lexa’s shuffling at around 11 and started the kettle. Lexa came out in her sweatshirt and track pants, her hair still half pulled back, the rest a mess around her face.

“Good morning,” Clarke said as she poured hot water over coffee grounds. “Did you sleep well?”

Lexa rubbed her eyes. “Yeah. I think so.”

“I can’t remember the last time you slept this late.” Clarke smiled. Lexa just nodded. “I got us scones.” Clarke pointed to a paper bag on the table. “I could warm them up.”

“If you want,” Lexa replied, sitting down. She picked up her phone.

Clarke tried to hide her panic. “Maybe you should skip Instagram this morning.” Lexa wasn’t into much social media, but she liked photos.

“It’s fine,” Lexa said, not looking up from her screen.

“Babe, please,” Clarke said, resisting the urge to snap the phone out of Lexa’s hand. “That asshole is in our friends’ pictures. They were at a wedding.”

Lexa froze then set the phone down slowly. She closed her eyes and put her face to her hands.

Clarke abandoned the coffee and sat next to Lexa, not too close, but near enough that Lexa could reach for her if she wanted. “Are you okay?”

Lexa nodded, but her face was still in her hands.

Clarke felt her heart start to beat hard in her chest. She took a deep breath. “Lexa, you know it’s not your fault, right?” she asked quietly.

Lexa nodded again then stood up abruptly. “Is my coffee ready?”

Clarke bit her lips. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Lexa stood up and poured a little more water, then went to the refrigerator and grabbed the cream. “Thank you for making it for me.”

Clarke picked up the brown bag and put the scones in the toaster oven as Lexa prepared her coffee. Then they both sat back down.

Clarke felt her heart pounding again. “Lexa, it’s not your fault,” she said once more, softly.

“Clarke, I know,” Lexa replied sharply, her eyes narrowing. She let out a breath. “You don’t have to do this. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Lexa,” Clarke said desperately. “You said so yourself. You kicked the shit out of Titus last night. He told me that you didn’t even know what you were doing.”

Lexa shook her head, her eyes taking on a vacant glaze. “I still don’t remember...” her voice trailed off. She looked at Clarke. “He’s okay, right?”

“He’ll be fine.” Clarke nodded, then looked down. “Lexa, I’m worried about you. I want to help.”

“What is there to do?” Lexa replied. “You saw what happened. You were there. Nothing happened. There’s nothing else to do.”

“Lexa…” Clarke wanted to tell her what she saw that night. Lexa’s flushed face and shaking hands. The blood running down Brett’s face and his half-erect cock. “You could talk about how you’re feeling…”

“I don’t know how I’m feeling, Clarke!” Lexa yelled as she threw hands in the air. “You seem to want me to be this frail victim.”

“That’s not--”

“That’s not who I am, and you know it.” Lexa’s green eyes were wide and dark. Her words shot out like pin pricks. “I’m not going to be scared and hide--”

“But you _were_ scared!” Clarke cut her off. “I was there! I was in that bathroom, Lexa. I was with you in that elevator, and _I_ was scared.” She couldn’t stop herself. “And you’ve been hiding this whole time! I’ve barely seen you since it happened. All you do is work and work out and sleep. You don’t even talk to me. I don’t know if you talk to anyone. That’s not normal, Lexa. _That’s_ not who you are.” Her voice cracked. “You’ve disappeared, and I just want you to come back.” A tear slid down her cheek and landed on the table.

Lexa’s chest heaved in giant breaths. She felt her heart pounding in her head. She balled up her fists and slowly closed her eyes. Then she picked up her coffee and phone, silently walked to the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.

Clarke couldn’t stop the tears. She buried her head in her arms on the table and cried until she smelled smoke. The scones had burned.

* * *

Lexa sat on the bed with the cup of coffee between her hands. Her ears were ringing. _You could talk about how you’re feeling._ She searched her body for a feeling, any feeling, but all she felt was the blood moving through her, pumping in her wrists, down her calves. She turned her head from side to side. Her neck strained and cracked with the effort. She realized that her shoulders were drawn up and took a deep breath to relax and pull them back. She had forgotten to stretch last night. Everything was so tight.

She picked up her phone and opened Instagram. A cat curled up in a shoe box was at the top of her feed. She scrolled. A muddy group of friends smiling at the end of a race. John Murphy on a beach with a girl too pretty for him. Her heart started pounding. She stopped scrolling. _I don’t want to see this._ She clicked back to the home screen and deleted Instagram. _Fuck him._

Lexa felt goosebumps rise over her body and shivered. A rush of blood began to pound in her ears like a river threatening to flood. It moved into her chest and belly. She felt the breath catch in her lungs. _I need to get out of here._

She switched her track pants for a pair of running shorts and slid on socks. She was still wearing the rest of her workout clothes from last night, so she was ready. She laced up her running shoes and grabbed her phone. _Where are my earbuds?_

She sighed as she opened the bedroom door. Clarke was still at the kitchen table. When she looked up, her eyes were swollen and red.

Lexa squinted at something she smelled. “What’s burning?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Have you seen my earbuds?”

“You’re leaving?” Clarke asked quietly.

“I need to go for a run.”

“But you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.”

“That’s okay.” Lexa was rifling through a side table drawer. “I’ll eat when I get back.”

Clarke looked at the thin tank top Lexa was wearing. “It’s 40 degrees out. You’re going to freeze.”

“Clarke, I’m running.” Lexa had moved to her gym bag on the floor and pulled out the missing earbuds. “I’ll get warm.”

Clarke gave up. “How long will you be?” she asked as Lexa reached for the door.

“I don’t know.” The door slammed close behind her.

* * *

Clarke was right: it was cold--and humid. The air slapped at her skin, slicing through her breathable running gear. Her knees felt stiff, and her ears pricked painfully. She shook her head angrily, wishing she had brought a jacket and earband. She wasn’t going back upstairs. She couldn’t handle the way Clarke looked at her.  

 _It’s not that bad. You’ve run in colder weather than this._ She put her earbuds in and clicked to her running mix. A thick, heavy, staticky bass flooded her ears as she took off.

 _Did you happen to catch_  
_Or did it happen so fast_  
_What you thought would always last_  
_Has passed you by_  
_Is everything speeding up_  
_Or am I slowing down_  
_Just spinning around_  
_And I don't know why_  
_All the pieces don't fit  
_ _Thought I really didn't give a shit_

The song pounded in her head as she turned the corner towards the park. She felt her ankles crackle and her hips sigh as she found her pace. The blood that had been threatening to flood earlier now pulsed with her body, which moved with the music.

Lexa loved running to this song. It made her feel like she was moving through a dark forest, dodging shadows and threats. Then suddenly it broke into a bright clearing, where the silence between beats lasted an eternity, where the air held her effortlessly, like she was flying.

 _Trying and_  
_Lying_  
_Defying_  
_Denying_  
_Crying and_  
_Dying  
_ _Where is everybody?_

Then the music brought her back into the forest, but after flying Lexa knew she could always outpace anything trying to hurt her. Her knees groaned beneath her and she thought fleetingly, _I should stop and stretch,_ but almost instantly shrugged it off. Instead, she set the song to repeat and took a turn away from the park to run the long way.

After six miles, she realized that she couldn’t feel her fingers. The day had gotten colder, and while she could see steam occasionally rolling off her bare shoulders, her hands were turning white. She slowed to a walk and pulled out her earbuds. The city was oddly quiet around her. The cold spell had sent even the squirrels and birds looking for shelter. She looked around for street signs. _Where am I?_

She stumbled, suddenly dizzy. Her stomach knotted. She needed food. Her hot muscles were cooling fast, the sweat soaking in the cold. She pulled out her phone but found that she could barely hold it, let alone unlock it. _Shit._ She looked around for a warm place to duck into and call a Lyft. The block was lined with cafes that catered to the work crowd--closed on Sundays--with apartments above. She turned and saw a tired-looking laundromat sign, half lit, and walked in its direction.

Lexa might not have noticed the huge, old church she was walking past had it not been for the deep call of a cello through its big wooden doors. She stopped and looked up at the sign on its stone wall.

 _Christ Church_  
_The Rev. Willa Allen_  
_All shall be well, and all shall be well,_  
_and all manner of thing shall be well._

She walked up to the doors and put her ear to the opening between them, heard a few stray piano notes and a guitar strum. Warm air brushed against her cheek. Her hands felt like rocks, but she managed to pull the door open and walk in.

Lexa moved through a brief narthex into the sanctuary where her eyes were drawn upwards. The church was bigger than it looked outside. Its once white stone that soared into ribbed vaults and pointed arches above had faded to a dirty gray with the many decades of city life that had moved through it. The pews stood in stately, though tired, rows. Their polish had faded long ago, and they carried the scars of many bumps and rubs.

A large radiator lined one side of the back pew. Lexa walked over and closed her eyes gratefully when she realized it was on. She held her hands close to it, rubbing them together, and continued to look around. The music was coming from four people who had set up in the space in front of the altar, which had been pushed back. Each of them was tuning their instrument or warming up in their own way. Their sound seemed to make no sense as it rose up into the stone ceiling and echoed down on her. Lexa felt her body respond to the chaos, but it was different than the flood she felt before--it felt warm, like a big family talking over each other at Thanksgiving.

After awhile, though, the musicians settled down, ready. She heard a woman’s voice count out, “one...two...three...four.” The piano and cello broke into the space at the same time, gently washing over the stone walls, then the guitar joined in, strumming in a whisper below them. They wandered through a few bars when the woman’s voice joined them, sweet and lithe.

 _Lost and weary traveler_  
_searching for the way to go._  
_Stranger, heavy hearted,  
_ _longing for someone you know._

 _May you find a light…_  
_May you find a light…  
_ _May you find a light to guide you home…_

Lexa had never been a religious person, but she found herself slipping into a pew, folding down the kneeler, and kneeling down. She found her hands, now warm, coming together, her elbows resting on the pew in front of her. She found that her head was empty, that she didn’t know what to say, so she closed her eyes and leaned her head against her folded hands, and she let the music wash over her.

_May you find a light…_

Lexa felt her body go quiet, her heart beating with the rhythm of the song, her blood moving through her in a slow, steady dance. A piece of loose hair fell into her face, and for some reason it made her smile. A warmth grew in her, glowing from her core down to her toes and into her hands, like her whole body was praying. Like she was safe.

_May you find a light to guide you home..._

* * *

Clarke was on the couch, sipping wine and looking at her computer, when Lexa opened the door quietly and snuck in.

“How was your run?” she asked hesitantly, glancing up at Lexa.

“It was...good,” Lexa said softly. “It was really good.”

Clarke sensed a small smile in Lexa’s voice even if it wasn’t on her lips, and she closed her computer.

“Yeah?” she said, walking over to Lexa. “Where did you go?”

She looked up and saw that Lexa was looking down, a tear slowly falling down her cheek. Clarke took a breath. She wanted to hug her, comfort her, but she stopped herself. It was Lexa who moved in and wrapped her arms around Clarke, digging her face into her neck. She hadn’t smelled Clarke’s skin in so long.

Then the flood came, but Lexa had no idea where to start. _I felt so afraid. Angry. Out of control. I shouldn’t have drank. I shouldn’t have smiled at him. What a fucking prick. Why does he get to just live his life? Why don’t your friends tell him to fuck off? I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? Why do I feel so ashamed?_ Her head raced, but she felt herself lean into Clarke, who stood steady. _She’s so strong...I forget sometimes._ She felt herself sobbing, and she felt Clarke’s hands on the back of her head and at the small of her back, bracing every part of her.

“I just keep thinking about every little thing I could have done differently,” Lexa said once she caught her breath. Her head ached from crying. “I shouldn’t have gone off by myself. I drank so much. His creepy smile...I should have known...”

“Oh, Lexa, no, no, no…” Clarke said, tears burning her eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just being you. You were so lovely.” She pulled back to look into Lexa’s eyes. “He’s a fucking predator, Lexa. Nothing you did or didn’t do was going to change that. He had no right to touch you. It wasn’t your fault.” Clarke wrapped her arms around Lexa again, holding her tight. Lexa’s heart pounded through Clarke’s chest. “You are so, so strong, my love. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Lexa closed her eyes and tried to slow her breath between the sobs that rolled in like waves. _Then why couldn’t I stop it_ , she thought. _Why did he think he could do that? Why did I let him push me? I thought I was strong..._ Her body shook as Clarke held her up.

Lexa cried until she had nothing left, and Clarke cried quietly with her. Clarke’s arms grew weary, but she didn’t want to let go even a little. _I’m here._

Finally, Lexa lifted her head off Clarke’s shoulder. Her hair stuck to her face where the tears had fallen, and her eyes were cracked and red. She looked at Clarke with the hint of a smile.

“I think I need a shower,” she said.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Clarke said, a tiny smile pulling at one corner of her lips. “It’s been awhile,” she teased.

Lexa nodded and headed towards the bathroom.

“Do you need help?” Clarke called after her.

“I don’t think so,” Lexa replied. She stopped and looked intently at Clarke across the room. “Thank you,” she said quietly, earnestly.

New tears pricked at Clarke’s eyes. She nodded. “Take your time.”

Lexa took a long shower and came out in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Clarke was on the couch. There was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the coffee table and a big thermos of water next to a small cup of steaming tea.

“I wasn’t sure what you would want.” Clarke said.

“It’s perfect.” Lexa picked up the thermos and drank all of it down. She couldn’t remember when she last drank water. Then she picked up half the sandwich. “I just want to watch Grey’s Anatomy the rest of the day.”

“Same.” Clarke picked up the remote. Lexa sat, eating the sandwich half in three bites. The rest was gone before the tea could cool. It burned her mouth when she sipped, so she set it aside. Then she laid down, resting her head on Clarke’s lap. Clarke ran her fingers through Lexa’s wet hair and smiled when Lexa didn’t stop her, then she leaned her head back into the couch.

They were both asleep before the opening credits ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Running song: [Where Is Everybody?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7eAdBg6Z38) \- Nine Inch Nails  
> Church song: [May You Find a Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oXEcplj8DMM) \- The Brilliance


	4. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa starts to feel normal again...until she doesn't. Clarke challenges Bellamy.

Clarke woke to a sharp ache in her neck. She turned her head from side to side, trying to work out the stiffness. Grey’s Anatomy still played on the TV screen—God only knew how many episodes Netflix had autoplayed. It was dark outside, but it was also fall. Darkness came earlier and earlier.

Clarke looked down and smiled. Lexa’s face was softer than she had seen it in weeks—at peace. She gently brushed the long hair that had spilled over Lexa’s face back behind her ear. Clarke had always wondered why she kept it so long, especially with her job and kickboxing. It would be easier to keep it shorter, but Clarke loved her long hair. There was something about it that made her both fierce and graceful.

Lexa shuffled in her sleep, moving her hand up to her face and tucking it under her cheek. Clarke felt her chest clench as a sudden sadness washed over her. She knew that Lexa hadn’t had much of a childhood, that she had taken on more responsibility than any twelve year-old should ever have to, but Clarke also always figured that even before being forced to grow up so soon, Lexa had been older than her years. Her serious green eyes carried lifetimes. They probably always had.

But her eyes were closed now, and all Clarke could see was the child, suddenly unburdened, free. She tried to memorize every soft curve and slope of that sleeping face. She knew that when Lexa woke up, those lifetimes—this lifetime—would come flooding back.

“I can feel you looking at me,” Lexa said without opening her eyes, a sleepy smile creeping across her lips.

“Shhhh,” Clarke said, smiling her half-smile and stroking the side of Lexa’s face gently. “I’m doing research.”

“By staring at me while I sleep?”

“Mmhm.” Clarke nodded her head.

“Then maybe we can move this research to bed?” Lexa asked, her eyes barely cracking open.

Clarke tried to hide her surprise by looking back at the clock in the kitchen. “Babe, it’s only eight o’clock. Kind of early for bedtime, isn’t it?” _You slept until eleven_ , she didn’t say. The day had gone so much better since then.

Lexa’s blinked her eyes opened, and she sighed as she pushed herself up. “I guess I’m just tired.”

Clarke nodded. She had mostly shaken off the post-nap fatigue, but she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to finally hold Lexa as they went to sleep. It had been so long.

They both ambled slowly into the bedroom. Clarke moved to her side of the bed and started to pull down the covers.

“Wait,” Lexa said as she walked around the bed to her. She wrapped her fingers around Clarke’s hand slowly and so gently, as if it might break when she touched it. Clarke felt goosebumps shoot up her arm and down the other, but she kept still, waiting for Lexa.

Lexa looked steadily at Clarke, her eyes warm, shy. Clarke held her stare. _I’m here._ Lexa’s hands moved to the bottom of Clarke’s shirt, and she slowly pulled it up, over her head,  and dropped it onto the floor. A breath caught in Lexa’s throat, as if she was seeing Clarke’s bare body for the first time. Her eyes moved from Clarke’s stomach to her breasts to her shoulders and back to her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Clarke whispered.

Lexa nodded slowly as she reached her hand up to Clarke’s neck, her fingers moving delicately over her throat, along her collarbone, and gradually down her arm. The smallest grin danced on her lips as she slid over Clarke’s goosebumps.

Clarke tried to still her quickening breath, tried to stay quiet, tried not to give any indication of how much she wanted Lexa. _Wait for her…_

Lexa grabbed the waistband of Clarke’s pants and gently pulled her towards her. Clarke felt herself shaking. _Wait._ Lexa brought her face to Clarke’s neck, brushing her blonde hair out of the way, rubbed her nose lightly on Clarke’s skin, and breathed in. Lexa felt the flood in her veins, this time like a summer storm—electric, inviting. She had forgotten how much she loved how Clarke’s skin smelled. She brushed her lips against her neck, slowly opened her mouth, and tasted her.

Clarke let out a ragged breath, balled her hands in fists, trying not to let her hands roam. _Wait._

Lexa’s mouth moved slowly up Clarke’s neck, under her chin, down her throat, and to the other side. Her hands reached around, pulling Clarke’s body against hers. She stepped back suddenly, and tugged frantically at her own shirt, throwing it to the floor and pulling Clarke into her again. She held her tight, groaning as she pressed her breasts against Clarke’s, her tongue moving gently over the curve of Clarke’s ear.

Clarke couldn’t hide anymore, letting her breath stagger in and out as she felt Lexa all over her. She moved one hand to the back of Lexa’s neck, the other wrapped around her waist, pulling them even closer together. She heard Lexa let out a long breath and couldn’t stop herself. She brought her mouth to Lexa’s shoulder, moved it up her neck, her tongue on her skin. She felt herself shaking, felt Lexa shaking. She drew back and saw Lexa looking at her intently, her eyes full of wanting, thinly veiled in caution.

“Is this okay?” Clarke whispered.

Lexa nodded, closing her eyes.

Clarke’s hands reached up to hold Lexa’s face. She softly kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheek, the curve of her jaw, and then moved slowly to the other side of her face. Finally, she kissed the tip of her nose then stopped, her lips an inch from Lexa’s, her eyes asking a question. Lexa nodded slowly and swallowed. Clarke moved closer and gently rested her lips on Lexa’s. Lexa softly kissed her back. Then again, a little harder. Then again, letting her tongue glide across Clarke’s lips. Clarke hungrily pressed her mouth against Lexa’s, her tongue reaching for more.

Lexa jerked back sharply. “I—I can’t.” She covered her chest with her arms and scanned the dark room for her shirt. Blood rushed into her ears so quickly she almost stumbled.

Clarke bit her lips and sucked in a breath, her body adjusting to the surprise.

“Lexa, what happened?” She stepped towards her, reaching for her shoulder, but Lexa dodged her touch. Clarke’s eyes stung with the rejection. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa said as she put on her shirt. “I don’t know what happened. I just can’t.”

Clarke reached for her own shirt, suddenly embarrassed that she was exposed. “I’m sorry, Lexa. What can I do?”

Lexa grabbed her pillow off the bed. “I’m just going to sleep on the couch tonight.” She started towards the door, then paused and looked back at Clarke sadly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

* * *

“Here you go,” Bellamy said as he set a beer in front of Clarke.

“What’d you get me?” she asked.

“You told me to surprise you,” Bellamy replied as he wiped beer froth from his moustache.

Clarke took a sip. It was clear and sharp on her tongue. “It’s good,” she said, nodding. “You did good.”

“Remember when all we drank was Coors Light?” Bellamy grinned.

“We were too young to know better,” Clarke replied. “Now I get one good beer for the same price as a six pack of that nasty shit. Is that progress?”

“Beer served a different purpose back then,” Bellamy reasoned.

Clarke nodded and took another sip. A strange silence settled between them. She moved her finger up and down the glass, rubbing off the condensation. She couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, kept remembering how Lexa covered herself like Clarke was a stranger. She wanted to talk about it, tell Bellamy how much it stung. She used to be able to tell him anything, but this...

Finally, Bellamy said, “I just wanted to say sorry...for brunch.” He didn’t look at her. “I didn’t know how bad…it didn’t seem that bad—” he stopped himself, knowing he was going the wrong way again.

Clarke felt the anger building and took a deep, slow breath, giving him a chance. “Lexa hasn’t slept in the same bed with me for a month,” she said quietly, looking down. “She barely lets me touch her. Then when she does, she...”

“What happened, Clarke?” Bellamy asked, his eyes sincere.

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “I just thought...maybe we turned a corner finally, but...it just comes out of nowhere. She’s angry or she’s afraid or something. I don’t know.”

“What do you think is going on?” Bellamy asked.

“You know, Bellamy, I don’t know if it’s anything I can explain to you.” Clarke took another sip. “Honestly, I don’t totally understand it myself. I mean, I understand the usual bullshit with guys. The shit they say. The way they’ve touched me—”

“Guys just touch you?” He interrupted.

“Yeah.” Her eyes grew wide and weary at the same time. “All the fucking time, Bellamy.” She shook her head. “But nothing like that night…Lexa was so scared. I’ve never seen her like that before.”

“But Brett didn’t actually—”

“Jesus! That’s not what it’s about.” Clarke closed her eyes and put her hands on the table. “You don’t know…” She took in a breath, willing herself to calm down. “Has anyone ever cornered you in a bathroom and pulled out his dick?”

“No, of course not,” Bellamy laughed uncomfortably.

“Why do you think that is?” Clarke looked in his eyes.

“Because I’m not gay?”

“Lexa’s gay, but that didn’t really seem to matter to that motherfucker.” Clarke couldn’t say his name.

“Honestly, I think I’d punch that guy in the face.”

“Lexa did punch him.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy nodded appreciatively. ”He should have known he was messing with a badass kickboxing champion before he tried that shit.”

“But that’s kind of the point, right?” Clarke went on. “He didn’t expect her to put up a fight. He thought he could overpower her because not every woman is like Lexa. If it had been me…”

“C’mon, Clarke,” Bellamy said. “You’re just as badass as her. You’d have fought him off.”

“That’s not the fucking point, Bell.” Clarke’s blue eyes were ice. “I shouldn’t have to be a badass to keep from getting raped.” The word came out like a bullet. “Especially when I’m at a party with a bunch of friends.”

“You’re right,” he said with an embarrassed look. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“The thing is, Lexa is, objectively, a badass,” Clarke said slowly. “She’s so strong. And she stopped him, she hurt him, but still…you didn’t see her after...it’s been so hard.”

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Bellamy said quietly. He shook his head. “Some men are assholes.”

“Yeah?” Clarke’s eyes pierced him. “What are you doing about it?”

* * *

Since she couldn’t fight, Lexa was at the punching bag after work. She shifted onto the balls of her feet, light and ready, keeping her gloves high. She felt the breath move in through her nose, felt her pulse beating in her neck, down her arms. She threw a sudden straight punch that landed with a dull thud on the bag.

She hadn’t slept well the night before, felt the fatigue behind her eyes, but whenever she tried to slow herself down, take a rest, she saw Clarke’s face, rejected and confused. It’s not what Lexa had meant. She still felt the wanting in her body, the taste of Clarke’s neck in her mouth. _What happened?_

Lexa threw a cross, a hook, then launched her leg into a roundhouse, the bag slapping sharply at her foot. It stung.

She didn’t understand. She tried to replay it in her head—Clarke’s scent, her shoulders, her goosebumps. She almost smiled at the memory, but then she heard Clarke’s voice. _Did I do something wrong?_

Lexa found herself flat-footed and shook her head roughly, berating herself for losing concentration. She lifted her leg in a halfhearted straight kick, trying to find the lightness in her body. She rocked back onto the balls of her feet and launched into another combo, one she used when she was trying to finish her opponent off. But she was out of sync. Everything was landing wrong.

She remembered Clarke’s lips on hers, how the blood rushed like the ocean into her ears, how she was suddenly afraid. How she saw _his_ face in front of her, and how she pulled away.

She attacked the bag again in a flurry of punches until her arms gave way and she slouched forward, her gloves on her thighs. Sweat dripped off her nose.

As she tried to steady her jagged breath, Lexa felt eyes on her. She glanced across the room where two teenage boys were staring at her with small smirks across their lips. She was suddenly very aware that she had taken off her shirt, aware of the skin that her sports bra didn’t cover, aware of the sweat sliding down her chest and back.

“What are you looking at?” Titus’ voice rang across the gym.

The boys turned towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Titus called after them. They froze. “I asked you a question.”

“Uh…” One of the boys stammered. “We were, uh, watching her work out.”

“Oh, good,” Titus replied earnestly. “Because she’s the most talented student I’ve ever had. Did you see her technique? How her hips opened up on that roundhouse? How her chin was tucked? I know you have a hard time with that, Jones.”

“Yes, sir.” Jones was looking down.

Titus nodded his head sharply. _Go._ As they scurried out, he turned to Lexa and handed her a towel. “Maybe I should have let you fight them.” His half-smile slowly washed away. “You had that look on your face again. During that last combination.”

“Did I?” Lexa shook her head and wiped her face.

“Lexa, are you okay?” Titus asked, his eyes worried.

She wrapped the towel around her shoulders and looked down.

“Listen, you don’t have to talk to me,” he said. “You don’t even have to talk to Clarke. But you should talk to someone. Maybe a professional?”

Lexa huffed.

“I’ve known you a long time,” Titus went on, “and I’ve never seen you like this. You’ve barely said anything for the past month. And you’ve been working out like a maniac.”

She didn’t respond.

“You’re strong,” he said, trying to catch her eyes with his. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, but you don’t have to do it all by yourself. That’s all I’m saying.”

Lexa just nodded and sighed.

\--

She had a text from Clarke when she got to the locker room.

*Going to be late. Big deadline tomorrow.*

*Ok,* Lexa typed, then added, *I’m sorry about last night. Do you want to talk about it?”* Then she erased it and typed, *I miss you.* Then she erased that, leaving just the Ok and sent it.

She saw the dots that told her Clarke was typing. They disappeared, then reappeared. *Are we ok?* appeared on the screen. Lexa’s head dropped into her hand as a mess of thoughts swarmed her mind. _We’re okay. I don’t know what happened last night. I don’t know how to fix this. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to talk to you about this. I don’t know...I don’t know...I don’t know._

Instead, she typed *Yeah* and pressed send.

\--

Lexa stepped out of the gym into the frigid air and walked towards the subway. As she waited on the platform, she pulled out her earbuds to block the noise of the trains. She clicked play and flinched when her running playlist started blasting. She clicked to a different list. Skipped one song. Then another. Then another. None of it was right. She took a few deep breaths, noticing her foot tapped on the ground. She looked up then closed her eyes. _None of it is right._ She shook her head, walked to the stairs, walked out the turnstile and back into the street. Then she lifted her arm to hail a cab that happened to be passing by.

When Lexa pulled open the door at Christ Church, she wasn’t really sure what she was doing there. She knew she had asked the cabbie to take her there, that she had paid him when she arrived, but…

_Who am I, darling to you?_  
_Who am I?_  
_Going to tell you stories of mine  
_ _Who am I?_

There was music again. The same woman’s voice as before riding slowly over a crisp and echoing guitar keeping a swaying rhythm.

As Lexa entered the nave, she instinctively walked to the radiator and held her hands over it. Lexa grinned to herself. The emanating heat reminded her of winters in Virginia, where it got just cold enough to be glad for a coat and scarf. She looked up. The church was different at night without light pouring in. The weariness of the place was lost in the shadows, replaced by a deep sense of wisdom and memory.

_Who am I, darling for you?_  
_Who am I?_  
_Could be a burden in time,  
_ _Who am I, to you?_

The song moved like a chant, echoing into the dark places and returning changed. Lexa sat in the back pew and closed her eyes, letting the music hold her. Images rose in her mind—the smirking boys, Titus’ worried eyes, the hurt on Clarke’s face. She imagined Clarke there next to her. She imagined taking her hand and through that touch, showing Clarke everything she couldn’t say. She let out a deep breath, wishing there was a different way to explain other than words.

“Hey…” A soft voice cut through Lexa’s thoughts. She opened her eyes. The woman who was singing stood in front of her. She had long, deep red hair and bright blue eyes. The sleeves of her sweater were pushed up to reveal a maze of tattoos covering one forearm.

“Hey…” Lexa responded, looking towards the altar, confused. She hadn’t heard them stop playing.

“You were here yesterday, right?” the woman asked.

“Yeah,” Lexa said. “I was running and needed a place to warm up, so…”

“But you came back,” the woman replied, almost a question.

“Yeah…”

“My name is Willa.” She reached out her hand.

Lexa took it, remembering the sign outside. “Oh, you’re the pastor?” She was surprised.

“I am,” Willa responded, smiling and looking around at the church. “But I’m also in this band, so we practice here. It’s a nice perk. I just love singing in this place. You should come on Sundays. I sing during the service.”

Lexa shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not trying to save you or anything,” Willa said, grinning. “It’s just...you seemed to like the music.”

Lexa nodded slowly. “Yeah...it was nice.” She looked up at the other woman. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“Thank you.” Willa looked down at the pew. “Do you mind if I sit?”

It wasn’t exactly what Lexa was hoping for, but she was in this woman’s church listening to her music. She moved over to make space.

“It looked like you were praying yesterday,” Willa said softly. Her eyes were warm. “You looked upset.”

“I wouldn’t say it was praying…” Lexa took in a breath and paused. “It’s just...something happened. Something bad...I mean, not as bad as it could have been, but...it just keeps haunting me. I want things to be normal. I want to move on, but it’s like...it’s like my body won’t let me.” The words spilled out before Lexa could stop them, but she felt a lightness in her chest as she spoke.

Willa nodded slowly then looked up into Lexa’s eyes. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“It’s Lexa.” Lexa looked down, suddenly self-conscious.

“Lexa, It’s okay,” Willa said quietly. “You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to share. Okay?”

“I’m just afraid I’m always going to feel like this.” Lexa rubbed her eyes.

“Feel like what?”

“Stuck.”

Willa nodded her head slowly. “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you. I don’t know what it was, but I know you didn’t deserve it.”

“How do you know that?” Lexa asked, a little more sharply than she intended.

Willa’s blue eyes grew deeper somehow, sadness at the edge of them. “Do _you_ think you deserved it?” she asked, looking steadily at Lexa.

Lexa took in a deep breath. Her head dropped into her hands and images of that night rolled through her mind. His charming smile. The banter. The way she tried to push past him. The way he forced her into the bathroom. The way she said no—again and again and again.

Tears fell between her fingers. She shook her head.

“No,” Lexa whispered.

Willa nodded and sat quietly, letting Lexa cry.

As the tears came, Lexa’s sadness suddenly turned to anger. “When do I get to move on?” she demanded through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know,” Willa replied quietly, shaking her head. “What’s the phrase?” she asked herself, trying to remember. It came to her. “The only way out is through.”

“That sounds terrible.” Lexa suddenly felt irritated. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“Yeah, it is terrible,” Willa said. “I wish I had better news.”

Lexa grinned despite herself. “I thought you were supposed to make me feel better.”

Willa laughed softly. “I mean, I believe in a God who sent her son down to earth to be with us, and all we did was brutally execute him.”

“That sounds pretty terrible,” Lexa said with a tired smile.

“Yeah,” Willa agreed. “But I also believe that he came back to life, even after going through hell. Which seems crazy, but…” Willa shrugged. They sat in silence for a long moment, then Willa finally said, “It’s time for me to go home, Lexa.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m glad you came back.”

“Me too.” Lexa looked at Willa with weary eyes. “Thank you.”

Willa bowed her head. _You’re welcome._ She stood up and started walking towards the altar. Lexa followed her out of the pew and turned towards the doors. As she was about to leave, Lexa stopped.

“Hey,” she called out to Willa. “What was the name of that song you were singing today?”

“Promise,” Willa called back. “It’s called Promise.”

Lexa nodded, smiled to herself, and pushed out into the cold night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Willa's song: [Promise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CVUOTzoVeZA) \- Ben Howard


	5. Fallingwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa finally opens up to Clarke.
> 
> (Please note the updated Explicit rating for (consensual) sex.)
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter inspired by the song Fallingwater by Maggie Rogers.

The city lights couldn’t dampen the moon that was waxing almost to full that night when Lexa left the church. The cold air greeted her like an old friend who always tells it like it is, harsh but cleansing.

_You didn’t deserve it._

The words pricked through her gloves and splashed over her face, leaving her nose numb—a truth that would not leave her alone, that seeped in through the seams of her clothes.

Lexa shivered. Part of her believed. The part of her that could replay the whole scene, the part that heard her say, “Don’t.” “I don’t want this.” “Stop.” The part of her that resisted, that kept him away.

_You didn’t deserve it._

But a shadow lived inside her, and Lexa couldn’t tell if it had always been there, asleep until that monster Brett woke it up, or if it had snuck in uninvited when she was crying in the elevator, her guard down. The shadow only spoke in questions and contingencies. _What if…? You could have..._ The shadow offered hollow strength and empty choices. The shadow never believed.

Lexa took a deep breath of the cold air, letting it scrape her throat and chill her lungs. It moved into her bones and ligaments, reached into the length of her muscles, and swarmed into every cell. Every part of her felt awake, alive, angry. She stopped, closed her eyes, and let the chill run, clean and clear. She felt all of who she was, every ounce of strength that lived inside her.

 _Fuck him._ Something broke open in her chest, like a rock split by growing ice. She shivered again and found herself smiling.

As she walked to the subway station, she pulled out her phone to text Clarke. *How late are you going to be?* It only took a few moments for Clarke to respond. *It’s going faster than we thought. Should be home before 11.* *Nice.* Lexa texted back. She could still feel goosebumps up and down her arms. *I thought maybe we could talk tonight?* she typed and then pressed send without thinking twice.

 

There were only a few people on the platform when Lexa got off the train at her Parkside Ave stop half an hour later. The stairs to Ocean Ave were dark and narrow. As she climbed up, she saw the silhouette of a large man traced by the fluorescent lights of the station above. He stood towards the top of the stairs, not moving, blocking half the path.

Lexa’s heart took off in her chest. She looked behind her. There was no one else around. She could go back down and walk up the stairway on the other end of the platform. She narrowed her eyes. _Fuck him._ She threw back her shoulders and held her head high, her eyes sharp. Her mind raced, preparing: how to get leverage on the narrow stairs, how to keep her balance, how to use his size against him. She walked steadily towards him, noting his narrow stance and slumped shoulders. The light behind him kept Lexa from seeing his face. She forced herself to breathe deeply, to steady her heart as she came closer. She opened and closed her hands, willing them to relax, to get ready.

When she was three steps away, the man looked up.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I’m blocking the whole stairwell,” he said lightly. He was a tall black man with a face that looked like it smiled a lot. He wore a winter hat and shiny oxfords with his well-tailored jeans. “Let me get out of the way.” Before Lexa could pass, he sprinted up the five stairs to the top and moved to the side.

Lexa grabbed onto the rail and closed her eyes for a moment. She felt the electricity in her muscles switch off. Her body seemed to fill with lead.

“Ma’am?” the man called from the top of the stairs. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Lexa replied. Her voice was rough and scratchy. “I’m fine.” She bent over and shook her head. Brisk air whipped past her down the stairs from the station above, brushing against the sweat that had appeared on the back of her neck. She breathed it in deeply, but all she felt was tired.

* * *

Clarke paused in the midst of her charts and numbers when she got Lexa’s text. _I thought maybe we could talk tonight?_ If her heart had been anchored to caution, Lexa’s message tore at the rope a bit—but didn’t cut it completely. Clarke set her phone down, smiled, and leaned back, trying not to respond right away, trying not to seem so desperate to get back to normal. _Screw it_ , she thought and picked up her phone.

*I’d love that.*

Lexa had become softer in the few days since she had pushed Clarke away after coming so close. Not that she had opened up, but she had been coming home earlier and helping to make dinner. They didn’t talk about what happened between them, but they talked. Lexa told her about some music she heard in a church, which surprised Clarke. Neither of them had stepped foot in a church since they’d known each other, except to go to Clarke’s cousin’s wedding. Clarke told Lexa about trial results and causes for hope, which were always fractional, and Lexa listened patiently though she didn’t ask many questions.

Sometimes Lexa brushed the hair out of Clarke’s face when they were talking or touched her waist softly when she needed to reach around Clarke to get to the cutting board. It wasn’t much, but Clarke found herself hoping for these small touches whenever she headed home from work.

She wouldn’t be home for awhile tonight, though—the night Lexa might have something to say.

Clarke sighed and looked through a window into the lab where half a dozen others were stooped over laptops. She wouldn’t leave until every member of her team was finished. She ran the department, and that’s how she worked. They were already going faster than she expected. Clarke nodded to herself, resigned.

* * *

Lexa wasn’t used to walking into a dark, quiet apartment. Clarke almost always came home before her, made tea, settled in, warmed up the space. Without her, it felt empty. Lexa dropped her bag by the door and went to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and pulled out containers filled with last night’s dinner, piled a meal on a plate, and threw it in the microwave. She ate efficiently at the table, not really tasting anything. She ate because she knew she needed to. Then she washed the dishes almost without thinking, stacking them neatly in the drying rack. As she hung the dish towel on its hook, she noticed a bottle of merlot on the counter that Clarke had opened. They had bought it together on a weekend trip to the North Fork.

“It was fine, not great,” Lexa had said after their tasting.

“Then why’d you buy it?” Clarke smiled her half-smile.

“Because I could tell they worked so hard to make it.” Lexa shrugged. “Maybe it’ll help them make better wine next year.”

“Or maybe they think they should make more of the same because someone bought it.”

After, they drove east to 67 Steps, a beach on the north shore at the bottom of a long set of wooden stairs. The waves weren’t as dramatic as on the ocean side, and the sand was thick and rocky, but it was quiet and away from the other tourists who had escaped from the city. It had become their beach, a place they made time to visit at least once every summer. Every time, they’d walk along its long shore, scooping clear jellyfish out of the water (and avoiding the red ones) and searching for sea glass.

It was on this trip that Lexa finally found a blue piece—teal, actually. Part of the long neck of a wine bottle, its mouth almost intact, but not quite, the two ends of the circle forever reaching for each other but never quite getting there. Its broken edges had been rubbed completely smooth by years of tumbling through sand and salt water.

“I wonder what its story is,” Lexa mused, holding it up to the sun as she and Clarke sat perched together on a tall boulder looking over Long Island Sound.

“Contraband on a navy ship,” Clarke guessed. “The sailor had to throw it overboard because the captain was coming.”

“No,” Lexa said slowly. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“What do you think then?”

“I don’t know…” Lexa stared at the glass, wondering whose hands had last held it.

She had brought the teal glass home and set it on a bookshelf where she had hardly noticed it since. This night, though, she grabbed it and turned it between her fingers, running her thumb along the soft edges. Then she pulled the cork out of the bottle of wine and poured a glass. She brought it to her nose. Sharp—not great, but not terrible. Then she sighed from some deep place inside her, took a sip, and closed her eyes.

She heard the song again. _I don’t ever want to be here._ She saw herself in the bathroom reaching for the doorknob. _Don’t let him push you,_ she tells herself. He pushes her anyway. _Don’t let him touch you._ He touches her anyway.

When she opened her eyes again, her fingers were wrapped tightly around the sea glass, one smooth edge digging into her palm. It felt solid and slippery and endless, like she couldn’t couldn’t keep it close enough.

She took another sip, slipping back into the memory. The music pulses around her, loud and full of crackle. His mouth is on hers, so desperate yet so sure of himself at the same time. She can’t hear anything but the music, can’t feel anything but his breath on her face, his tongue sliding over her clenched teeth.

She opened her eyes and put the wine down. _Stop._ And it all stopped. Her hands were shaking, and her pulse pounded like a storm through her whole body. She took a deep breath. Then another one. She looked down at her hands, at the sea glass. Lexa imagined a woman in a long, elegant dress at the end of a dock at night. She’s overlooking the dark sea and and taking a deep drink from something straight from a teal bottle, her eyes angry and resigned.

Lexa looked up at nothing and bit her lip. Then she nodded to herself, walked to the kitchen sink, and poured the rest of her wine down the drain.

* * *

It was after 11 when Clarke finally came home. The living room was dark except for one lamp on the side table next to the couch where Lexa was still sitting. It was silent except for the sounds of the city below.

Lexa glanced up. “Hey. Did you guys get everything done?”

“Yeah.” Clarke set her bag down next to Lexa’s. “It took a little longer than I thought.”

“Are you hungry?

“No. We ordered pizza.”

“Good, because I ate all the leftovers, and I wasn’t sure what you would eat.” A trace of playful guilt danced over Lexa’s small smile.

Clarke smiled back. “Now I don’t have to make you go out to get me something.” She looked around the dark room. “Are you okay? It’s kind of...weird in here.”

“Yeah…” Lexa trailed off and looked down. “It’s been kind of a weird night.”

Clarke sat down on the couch with Lexa. “Is that why you wanted to talk?”

Lexa looked confused for a moment before remembering the text she had sent. It felt like three lifetimes ago. She let out a quick, cynical laugh. “No, that was something else.”

Clarke’s eyes dropped along with her shoulders.

Lexa noticed. “But I’d still like to talk.”

Clarke nodded slowly and tried to hide the sigh she couldn’t stop.

Lexa noticed but pretended not to. She looked down at the teal sea glass still in her palm. “Do you remember the trip to the North Fork when we found this?”

Clarke nodded, looking down at the glass. “I love that beach,” she said quietly. “ _Our_ beach.” Then she chuckled and looked up. “You were so intense that day.”

“Was I?” Lexa didn’t remember that.

“Oh yeah. You kept finding shitty brown pieces of glass that weren’t even close to smooth. You don’t remember?”

Lexa shook her head.

“You had all these tiny pieces in your hand, and you got so mad. Like people had purposely broken shitty brown beer bottles and dumped them in the water just for you to find.” Clarke smiled. “Do you remember?”

Lexa looked down grinning, embarrassed. She had tried to throw them back in the water, but the pieces that didn’t stick to her hand barely went a yard. They were too small.

“You were so mad!” Clarke laughed. “Why were you so mad? It was just glass!”

Lexa looked up. “I didn’t even remember until you mentioned it.”

“Then you got even more mad because I laughed.” Clarke shook with laughter. “You wouldn’t talk to me until you found that.” She looked at the glass in Lexa’s hand.

“Yeah...” Lexa turned it over. “Why _did_ I get so mad?”

Clarke smiled. “It’s really the best piece you’ve ever found.”

“It’s almost the color of your eyes,” Lexa said.

“I always thought it was more like yours.” Clarke replied. “Do you know what I remember about that day?”

Lexa shook her head.

“You looked hot. In that new black bikini top. Remember? We bought it...” Clarke trailed off as she noticed Lexa looking down at the glass, not really paying attention. “Lex, what’s going on?”

Lexa sighed. “I went to the church again tonight, and I felt good after. I felt really good. Like maybe something finally changed. But then...something always happens, and I feel afraid out of nowhere. And I hate it, Clarke.”

Clarke paused then looked into Lexa’s eyes. “Lexa, tell me what happened at that party,” she said softly.

And then, to Clarke’s surprise, she did. Clarke had pieced together the story from what she saw when she walked into that bathroom and what other people told her, but it was different to hear Lexa tell it. With every word, Clarke felt her heart pound harder. Her jaw clenched until it hurt and hot tears gathered at the corner of her eyes.

“I want to kill him,” Clarke said quietly, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“I _could_ kill him,” Lexa replied, reaching up to brush the tear away. “I know I could. I could track him down, and he wouldn’t stand a chance. But I think that if I saw him, I would hide. Just thinking about him makes me want to hide.” She looked down.

“Why?” Another tear escaped down Clarke’s cheek. She had never seen Lexa back down. Lexa was never loud about it, but she never backed down.

Lexa rubbed her thumb on the edge of the teal glass, avoiding Clark’s eyes. “I felt so...dirty. I don’t know how to explain it. Just thinking about it now makes me feel dirty. Or...I don’t know...like every part of me is now...tarnished. Unclean. And when you touched me...” She couldn’t say the rest.

Clarke’s head dropped into her hands as she felt something in her chest snap. _How could someone break her like this? How could she think that_ she’s _the dirty one?_ Her body shook lightly as she cried. “You didn’t deserve this,” she said as her tears feel to the floor. She looked up at Lexa whose face was stone still except for a single tear that rolled slowly down her face.

Clarke forgot her caution and moved close to Lexa. She leaned over, wrapping her arm around Lexa’s waist and resting her head on her shoulder. Lexa’s body was stiff, but she didn’t move away.

Clarke couldn’t stop picturing that man pinning Lexa against the door. She kept seeing Lexa’s face, surprised and afraid. Clarke wanted to break that bathroom door down and take her away. But there was nothing she could do.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Clarke whispered. “You didn’t deserve this,” she said again. And again. She repeated it until she felt Lexa’s body soften and fall against hers. Lexa rested her head against Clarke’s. Her breath was steady, her face stoic, but she shook lightly as tears rolled silently from her eyes. She grabbed Clarke’s hand, and they both looked out into the darkness and cried together.

After awhile, the tears stopped and they both fell still, save the occasional sniffle. Clarke took a deep breath, feeling Lexa’s warm body leaning against hers. She let the breath out in a sigh as she realized things would need to be different.

Lexa was a fighter. The fight was the only place she would let herself go completely, where she poured her anger and passion, and even in the fight she was precise, smart, calculating. She picked her opponents apart move after move, conserving her own strength until her enemy thought they had her, until they let their defenses down—then she would strike hard. Clarke loved that moment. It was the only time she saw Lexa laid bare, her impassive mask stripped off, her smoldering coals sparked into a blaze that could devastate in a matter of seconds.

But that night at the party, she didn’t know she needed to be strong. Brett caught her by surprise. The fight came too late. The damage was done.

Clarke closed her eyes for a long moment and took another breath. Then she gently pulled away from Lexa and kneeled in front of her.

“Lexa, I love how strong you are,” she  said. “But you shouldn’t have to be strong all the time. You think you screwed up, that you should have done something different, but here’s the truth: he betrayed you.”

Lexa nodded and bit her lip. She closed her eyes slowly, spilling some tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. She ran a loose piece of Clarke’s long, blond hair through her fingers.

“I love your hair.” She spoke quietly as another stray tear rolled down her cheek.

Clarke searched Lexa’s green eyes. They were glassy and deep, only willing to hold Clarke’s gaze for a moment before they looked away. Clarke reached her hand up to Lexa’s cheek and waited for Lexa to look at her again.

“You don’t have to do it all by yourself,” Clarke whispered, keeping her eyes steadily on Lexa’s. “I’m strong, too, you know.” Clarke’s small smile was full of heartbreak.

Lexa’s eyes changed, became steady and intent. She put her hand on Clarke’s cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Clarke only had a moment to be surprised when Lexa bent down and kissed her. It was a long, hungry kiss, full and hard. Lexa pulled back for a breath and then kissed her again. Her hands grabbed at the front of Clarke’s shirt, pulling her up onto the couch so that Clarke was straddling her.

Clarke was all fear and desire, not sure where to put her hands, not sure when Lexa would pull away, but responding to Lexa’s hands now on her hips pulling her closer, to Lexa’s tongue now begging for hers.

Lexa’s mind cleared until all that was left was wanting. She pulled back, her fingers fumbling at the buttons on Clarke’s shirt and then at the hooks of her bra.

Clarke gasped as Lexa dug her fingers into her back and kissed her ear, felt the blood rush through every inch of her. _Please don’t stop_ , she begged silently.

As if responding, Lexa gathered Clarke into her arms and laid her down on the couch, kissing her mouth, her neck, her collarbone, her sternum—kissing her as if Clarke might disappear any second and she’d never have another chance, like the smooth edges of her body might slip from her hands forever. Lexa’s breath grew shallow. She felt blood rush into her ears, pounding through her head, the flood threatening. Panic danced at the edge of her skin.

_Stop._

And she stopped, hovering over Clarke on her hands and knees, her eyes a swarm of excitement and fear. She closed them and tried to steady her breath. Clarke looked up at her, holding her breath, afraid. Lexa sucked in her her lips then slowly leaned down, her mouth against Clarke’s ear.

“I want you to touch me,” she whispered, hoping she meant it.

Clarke’s breath caught, and she sat up quickly, kissing Lexa hard. Clarke couldn’t pull  her shirt and sports bra off fast enough. Her fingertips brushed over her stomach, around the curve of her waist, and down her back. Clarke pulled her close, tasting salt as she moved her mouth over the soft skin of Lexa’s breast. She paused to look up at her. _Is this okay?_ Lexa smiled breathlessly, and Clarke took her nipple into her mouth, sucking hard.

Lexa’s whole body filled with Clarke. There was nothing else. No fear. No questions. Just waves of Clarke washing over her. The woman she had loved for so long. The woman who did everything she could to love her, even if it meant giving her space. The woman whose smile could say a thousand things, whose skin smelled like autumn. When Lexa caught her breath, she leaned down to Clarke’s ear again.

“I want you inside of me.”

Clarke shivered even as warmth washed over her body. They both scrambled to pull at the rest of Lexa’s clothes, but when they were finally off, Clarke stopped and took in Lexa’s body. She ran her fingers slowly over her collarbone, along her chest, around the outside curve of her breast, down her firm stomach. Clarke swallowed. It had been so long.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispered, grabbing Clarke’s hand and moving it between her legs. “Please.”

Clarke reached up, her fingers searching for Lexa’s clit. She was so wet.

Lexa took in a sharp breath. “Please,” she whispered again. Clarke slid her fingers inside, feeling Lexa wrap around her. Lexa pulled Clarke against her and started rocking against her hand gently.  

“Thank you,” Lexa whispered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Her breath grew jagged as Clarke moved in and out of her.

Clarke knew the first wave was coming when Lexa stopped rocking and dug her face into her neck. She felt Lexa tighten around her fingers and gasp as the slow explosions washed over her again and again and again.

* * *

The next morning, Clarke woke up to sun streaming in through cracks in the curtains. She caught a scent and grinned to herself. She smelled like sex. She turned over to find the other side of the bed empty. She took a deep breath and gathered herself, then sat up, pulled on some sweats and a t-shirt and opened the door.

Lexa looked up from the couch where she was lying under a blanket.

“Hey,” Clarke said.

“Hey.”

“Did you sleep out here?”

Lexa shrugged. “I tried.”

“Are you okay?” Clarke sat on the couch, nestling close to Lexa.

“My heart was racing after we…”

Clarke looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” Lexa said quickly. “It’s not you. You were incredible. It felt incredible.”

Clarke played with the edge of the blanket.

“Clarke,” Lexa said, trying to catch her eyes. “I needed that last night. I needed to feel you. I felt peaceful, like I could let go for the first time since...that night.” She touched Clarke’s arm. “But it’s still scary sometimes, to feel that close.”

Clarke bit her bottom lip then nodded. “That makes sense,” she said. “It’s just hard. I just want it to go back like it was before.”

“I do, too, Clarke,” Lexa said. “But I don’t know if that’s possible. I just see things differently now. I feel things differently. But I want to work on it. With you. If you’re willing.”

“Lexa, nothing has been harder than watching you go through this, than not knowing how to help.” Clarke looked up. “All I want to do is help.”

“Good.” Lexa smiled. “I might need some more practice like last night.”

Clarke grinned. “Maybe after scones.”

\----------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s no satisfying way to end this story. Lexa will continue to struggle, and she will continue to find strength and peace. Eventually, perhaps, the fear and shame will fade to a tiny whisper. Clarke will do her best to support her, sometimes succeeding, sometimes not.
> 
> But the truth is, this story has no end. Any victim of sexual assault will tell you this. (And that’s one out of every six women, one in every 33 men.) There’s recovery, there’s healing, there’s getting back to everyday life for a lot of us, but that moment of helplessness and violation lives on in our bodies. The shadow is always there, it just becomes quieter, more manageable. 
> 
> But something else happens: we get stronger. It’s a different kind of strength than the self-sufficient, take-it-on-the-chin kind we’re usually taught. We build strength in sharing the burden of our experience with people we trust, people who will be angry and heartbroken with us and for us. They help us to see ourselves more clearly. They see through the shadow into both our deep pain and inviolable beauty, and they reflect them back to us with care and love. They fill us with strength so that we can go on, move through the feelings of helplessness until we we can hear and feel the truth:
> 
> It wasn’t your fault.  
> You didn’t deserve it. 
> 
> If you’re struggling with your experience of sexual assault, please call the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network National (RAINN) Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673. If you just need someone to hear you, send me a message—I'm tsthrace on tumblr or tsthrace at gmail.


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